


Guilty as CHARGEd

by sugarplumfairy



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Creampie, Dirty Talk, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Spanking, Stealth sex, Vaginal Sex, and a million other little niche things, fucking in your childhood bedroom, no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 10:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20526590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarplumfairy/pseuds/sugarplumfairy
Summary: By popular demand of the discord. The topics were stealthy sex while one partner's on the phone and fucking in one partner's childhood bedroom. So Ricardo and Ardi do exactly that. I'm running low on titles.





	Guilty as CHARGEd

**Author's Note:**

> this one goes out to starry, pix, neil, bee, cecil, daisy, rana, and all the other thirsty fucks that weren't around for the initial convo

There’s a poster on his wall of a girl group you don’t recognize. It makes sense, given the apparent age of the poster – you weren’t really into music at the time, and you’re again reminded of how much older than you Ortega is – and you’re overcome with the image of Ricardo with a Walkman, a mouth full of braces, a pimply chin covered in the attempts of a beard. The way you’ve seen him immortalized in frames all over this house. At his homecoming dance, at his senior prom.

It’s hard to see the poster upside-down, and you want to tease him about it but you know he’ll lift his head from between your thighs and that’s the last thing you want. Instead you pocket the information for later and pull on his hair a little harder.

He moans into you and the vibration is _delicious_.

“That’s it, Ricardo,” you say as the flat of his tongue slides between your folds, just brushes your clit. “Keep going, just like that.”

He teases your entrance with the tip of his tongue, skips it and continues to lick you, taste you… _eat_ you. You’re pleased that he remembered how much you hate tongue-fucking.

_Your dick is better at doing that. Use your mouth for other things,_ you’d said, and you wonder if he remembers too, and then your thoughts are cut off because he swirls his tongue directly _on_ your clit and oh shit, _oh shit. _You hear old springs squeak as your back arches up off the bed.

He keeps going through your orgasm, through the waves, through the tugging on his hair that must hurt at this point but you don’t fucking care right now because his mouth is still on you. The pleasure subsides and he pulls away, looks up at you with a stupid grin, mustache damp and God, you wish he’d shave the damn thing.

You loosen your fingers from his hair and smooth it back from his face, use your nails to scratch at his scalp. His smile grows wider and you don’t know why until he plunges two fingers into you and runs the flat of his tongue over your clit and oh _fuck, _he got the timing right. How the hell did he get the timing right? You’ve only been able to do this to yourself twice in your life, give yourself that second orgasm, and both times are imprinted in your memory from the force of the explosion.

The explosion that’s now turning you sideways, upside-down, inside-out. You think you’re screaming. You think you’re crying. You’re not sure anymore.

When your mind finally returns to your body you slowly become sure of Ricardo’s hot breath on your thigh, the wrinkled comforter underneath you, the upside-down poster. He hooks his arms under your legs and pulls you closer, and you’re so surprised that a laugh escapes you. The smile’s still there when he climbs over you, still there when he pulls back after he kisses you on the cheek.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks.

“You,” you say. It’s not a lie.

“Well, duh,” he says. “I’m right here.”

You roll your eyes. “Thinking about what you must’ve been like in high school. If you were just as annoying as you are now.”

“Ah.” He rests an elbow on the mattress, rests his chin in his hand. “Well, I had less facial hair. Less friends. More acne.”

He laughs, strokes the side of your face with his other hand.

“If someone told me back then that I’d have the hottest woman in Los Diablos in this bed,” he continues, “I would’ve told them they’re crazy. But here you are.”

You know there’s a witty comeback to that somewhere, but your voice utterly fails you. You let him kiss you, pry your lips open, and there’s a musky flavor that you realize must be your own. The thought sends a thrill through you. Ricardo breaks the kiss first.

“Ready for more?” he asks.

“Always, you big dummy.”

“Hey. It never hurts to ask,” he says with a scoff. You open up your legs for him, thighs hugging his torso.

_Good old Ricardo, always looking out for you. _

He lifts himself up a little, rubs his cock between your still-slick folds, and when that’s not to his satisfaction he spits in his hand and gives himself a few pumps.

The first push is accompanied by a gasp, the shock of the initial breach. The stretch burns but it’s oh so good and he slips in deeper. Deeper. He pulls out completely and you almost sob at the loss, but before you miss him too much he’s back and he drives further and you sob anyway, overwhelmed with pleasure. The way he fills you, all the way to your limit. It drives you crazy.

And all that before he even starts to fuck you proper. You think you might die once he does. The rough drag of his cock inside you, the hand that doesn’t knead your breast so much as grab it desperately. Your hand finds his forearm, your eyes find his, and you hope he understands what you’re trying to tell him – _don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t let go, oh God, please, don’t stop._

A phone rings somewhere on the ground.

“Shit, shit!” Ricardo says, and he pulls out of you.

You whine when he gets off the bed and starts to rummage through the discarded clothes.

“Where the hell are my pants?” he asks, but it’s rhetorical. Neither of you paid attention to where the clothes were going, as long as they were off. He finds them, digs the bulky, reinforced phone out of the pocket and answers it. “Mamá?”

You hear tía Elena on the other end. “_Ricardo, I’m about to leave the store. Do you want anything?_”

“No, mamá, I’m fine,” he says. You have to admit, the image of Ortega talking on the phone with his mom while buck naked, cock stiff and covered in slick, is pretty funny. When you move onto the floor his attention directs itself to you.

“_Are you sure? There’s a sale on avocados_.” You start to crawl towards him. His eyes grow wide as he realizes what you’re about to do.

“No, I said I’m fine.” He shakes his head, more at you than at the question. You maintain eye contact with him as you hold the base of his cock and run the flat of your tongue along his shaft.

“_Does Ardi want anything?”_ You pull away from his cock for just a moment, make sure he’s looking at you when you mouth very clearly, _You._ You take him into your mouth, as far as you can, twist your hand around what doesn’t fit. Ricardo’s free hand tangles in your hair, but he doesn’t try to pull you off.

“N-no, she doesn’t want anything,” he says, and aside from the little stumble you’re proud of how well he keeps his composure. You release enough of him for you to breathe again, push yourself back down when you’ve got enough air for another dive.

“_I know she’s there with you. You didn’t even ask her_.” He manages to disguise a pleasured grunt as an annoyed groan.

“Ardi, d-do you want anything? F-from the store?”

You release him with a pop, and let the saliva dribble from your lower lip. Just to torture him a bit more.

“Hm,” you say, and slide your hand over his cock once, up and down. “Maybe popsicles?”

“Popsicle—” He stops short when you give him a long lick, base to tip.

“_Okay, popsicles_.”

“Bananas.” You take him back into your mouth, this time rubbing his head on the inside of your cheek.

Ricardo only just gets the phone away from him before he hisses sharply. He glares at you. “Bananas.”

You release him again and rub his cock against your face, giving him the most innocent of looks. “Cucumbers.”

“Ardi.” He’s not going to play your game anymore. Time for a coup de grace.

“Sausages.” You take him all the way in, force yourself to relax your throat and allow him passage. You’ve done this before, you tell yourself. Maybe not in this body, but you’ve done this before and you can do it again. He yanks on your hair – just a reaction, not out of malice – and you know you’ve got him now.

“That’s all. See you at home.” He hangs up, throws the phone on the ground, and lifts you by the waist, which pulls his cock from your throat. You can’t contain the surprised yelp, nor the laughter as he tosses you back on the bed.

“You little shit,” he says, but the smile on his face tells you he’s not angry. “We’ve gotta hurry up now, mamá’s on her way home.”

He flips you over onto all fours, wastes no time before he enters you again, this time from behind. He drives a hard and fast pace before you even have time to catch your breath. His fingers wind into your hair and yank your head far enough back for him to kiss you.

It feels upside down, his facial hair brushes your chin and it’s something new and different. He hits something _good_ and you moan into his mouth. He lets your lips go and focuses on fucking you instead.

“Oh _fuck,_ Ricardo, fuck me,” you say, the words having skipped your brain and all your filters and gone right out of your mouth.

“I am,” he says. Smug bastard.

“Spank me,” you say, and that one _definitely_ missed the filter but any shame you might have felt is replaced by the sound, the sting, the burn of his hand as it smacks your ass. He does it again, and the burn grows hotter. A third time and you find yourself desperately trying to match his thrusts.

“You’re naughty, aren’t you? I had no idea.”

“Yes,” you moan, and you’re not sure if it’s an attempt at a response or just a general affirmation of how much pleasure he’s making you feel.

“Say it,” he says, and he pulls harder on your hair. All the while his rhythm is steady, his thick cock fills and empties you at a maddening pace. He’s enjoying this too much, having discovered what you didn’t even know was a turn-on until just now.

“I’m a bad girl,” you say, and you can feel your cheeks go red with shame. You might as well lean into it, because he’ll tease you about it later, no matter what you do now. “I deserve to be punished.”

Another smack. A hotter burn. Quicker thrusts, a warm trickle down your thigh of mixed fluids. It’s too much. It’s too much.

You’re about to scream, but Ricardo clamps a hand over your mouth and stills. You almost yell at him for it but when you look over your shoulder at him you see he’s frozen in fear. You remain quiet, let his hand stay there. Listen.

The front door closes. Footsteps. Soft singing. Plastic grocery bags are set on a counter._ Fuck. We didn’t make it._

You mentally prepare yourself to pull your pants back on without a proper finale, but then Ricardo starts to move again. Slower this time, slow enough to avoid the creak of the springs. His hand is still over your mouth – good thing, too, because you’re sure you moaned a little when his cock dragged out of you.

You look back at him again and there’s still fear in his eyes. But there’s something else, too.

You almost laugh when you recognize it. Arousal.

_Exhibitionist. Of course._ Now you’ve got ammunition loaded for when this topic comes around.

He keeps one hand on your mouth and trails the other one down over your belly to rub your clit. You’re once again glad that he muffled you, because it doesn’t take long for you to reach another orgasm.

He fucks you through it, just the way you like it, keeps fucking you even when you’re boneless underneath him, even when the overstimulation starts to hurt. Even when you feel the next one cresting and _oh, fuck._

That’s the one that sends him over, and he thrusts into you a few more times, buries his cum in you with each one. When he’s done he collapses over you for the space of a few heavy breaths, then straightens up and pulls out of you.

“We should probably go say hi before she thinks we’ve been murdered,” he says, as he searches for his underwear. He finds your bra and tosses it onto the bed.

“Hold on. I’m still trying to find my legs.”

“That good, huh?”

“Shut up.”

* * *

When the two of you find your way down to the kitchen, the groceries have all been put away, save for a box of condoms on the counter. Elena sits in an old wooden chair, legs crossed and hands folded neatly in her lap.

Ricardo looks mortified. Elena turns to you with a sympathetic smile.

“I really wish Ricardo would marry you first, but if you’re going to do this, use protection.”

Ricardo hides his face with his hands.

“_Mierda…_”


End file.
